


Pick A God And Pray

by pissanthrope



Series: Hellbent [1]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Blood and Injury, Cult Antics, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Heaven Sent AU, I know wacky idea but bare with me here, Injury Recovery, Kanan Jarrus Lives, Kanan Jarrus-centric, Kanan gets his sight back in this one sorry, Mild Gore, Psychological Trauma, Resurrection, did writer take inspiration from FMA? who knows :3c, im just gonna say that every character in this story needs a great big hug, me: i shoudl fucking traumatize kanan, me: i should write a fanfic for rebels!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-08 03:11:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19098565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pissanthrope/pseuds/pissanthrope
Summary: Moments after he feels himself become engulfed in flames, and blink out like a candle, Kanan finds himself awake and naked. Surrounded by dead bodies in an old cathedral, haunted by tapestries of a giant loth-wolf with a peculiar symbol on its forehead.Or; the one where a cult messes up.





	1. Resurgence

**Author's Note:**

> hey its me. so this has been an AU in the making and i finally got enough motivation (adderall) to write the first chapter of it!! and before you ask, no, this is not a fully fleshed out AU. im just sad abt Kanan and so i decided to resurrect him in a rather gruesome manner. dont worry things get better for our main group of friends.

 

Kanan gasped awake, the gulping breathe from his throat echoing throughout the grand structure of the cathedral. It was like he'd spent _years_ drowning, and this shuddering breath of fresh air was the first to be taken after finally breaking the surface. 

He dare not sit up and risk ripping open his newly formed muscles and tissue, still raw in the midst of developing.

Kanan shivered, the cool twilight breeze easing in through the cracks of the painted glass. His nerves were fragile and sensitive, and he let out a gentle cry not unlike a baby bird crying out for its mother. He was fearful with questions, his eyes unable to open and his ears picking up nothing but a gentle ringing, somewhere in the distance.

He felt frantically, once callused, now baby soft fingers fondling around, nudging pieces of broken glass and dust and fabric around him. Kanan felt a rough edge to his right, and another to his left, and he forced his eyes open.

At first he had expected nothing. Just another awakening to a sea of… well not exactly blackness, but simply nothing. Though that expectation was quickly diminished as his temples pounded and the world around him flared to life.

One million nerve endings and stimuli burst to life in a second, unused and unprepared for the bright new world that awaited the newly resurrected Kanan Jarrus. He cried out again, vocal cords already raw from the lack of use, or rather, lack of previous existence would be a better description.

It was like he was being burnt alive all over again. His heart pumped blood through his veins, hot and burning and gushing out through his nose as he was frantic with adrenaline. Kanan sat up, and the immediate crack of bone and tendon broke the silence one again. He was almost nervous he'd broken his underdeveloped bones with that harsh movement.

That's when he noticed it. That's when he'd noticed the tapestry. Or, _tapestries_ , was more appropriate. Long colorful fabrics decorated the winding chamber, a series of illustrations that seemingly dictated some version of his life before.

His birth, his childhood. Little legacies played out on each and every lengthy piece of fabric. The little documentation of his teen years left Kanan with a semblance of.. Well, _almost_ gratitude, if that's what he'd call it, for a reason he couldn't quite remember yet.

Simple, crude depictions of characters throughout his life sparked little familiarity.

Kanan felt his heart beat quicker as his eyes landed on a beautifully illustrated Twi-lek woman. Though he did not know why, but he had the faintest feeling of recognition as he gazed into her green eyes.

Kanan would remember her, if not now, but later. He'd always remember her. There was plenty he would remember.

Though there are things he'd rather not remember, one example being the corpses.

Countless corpses littered the chamber, around the altar where he lay. There were so many, he probably couldn't count them, even if he could remember how to count.

They were emaciated, many decayed and almost mummified. With their dried and cracked flesh, it was almost like something sucked their life out through a straw. They were, and this made Kanan chuckle in some sort of morbid manner, like juice pouches. Each and every corpse was like a juice pouch that a child had squeezed and wrung to get every single last drop out of.

And he had a thought.

Kanan had to have been the child.

And like a child, he observed with fear and a little bit of morbid curiosity. He noticed a peculiarity with several of the corpses.

They were missing body parts as well. Arms and legs were sliced clean off by some supernatural force, some were disemboweled and emaciated. Though it was odd, the few missing limbs still had an intact skeleton structure, some even kept their veins.

Once gentleman (gentlewoman? Kanan couldn't tell) might've even been missing their entire artery system, ripped out and gutted like tearing strings from fabric, one by one.

Piece by piece.

Kanan struggled to his feet, crawling off the raised altar and desperately holding himself steady. He would've felt vulnerable with his nudity if the people in the room were actually alive. Actually, now that Kanan considered it, he felt more uncomfortable with the fact that he was naked, _especially_ with the various dead bodies present in the room.

He choked on his breath, panting heavily with exhaustion from the effort it took to keep himself upright.

He collapsed again, holding onto the side of the altar.

Kanan groaned pathetically, and leaned back to gain some footing. But the still warm and pulsing touch of one of the corpses brushed his flesh, and he gasped and scurried away frantically.

It was just like the other corpses, decayed and emaciated. But it was it's eyes that made Kanan sick, those eyes…

 

Or, lack thereof.

 

There were holes where there should be eyes. Two great big gaps lie in the middle of its skull, scooped out in a gruesome manner by some kind of force.. But that was when Kanan noticed another thing.

That was when Kanan noticed himself. In the reflection of a broken mirror that had the ripped off the wall and lay in pieces against the altar.

Kanan gazed deeply into the eyes of his reflection and saw a beautiful set of honey eyes gazing back. Striking orange flames of eyes stood out gorgeously against his tan, blood-covered skin.

Now, if Kanan could properly recall, his eyes weren't exactly amber. He had vague memories of a young girl with hair painted with colors he couldn't name yet, just absolutely gushing over the way his eyes changed shades of blue depending on the light.

So why were his eyes suddenly amber?

 

A feasible question, really.

 

That's when Kanan's blood ran cold at a very.. concerning realization.

Kanan screamed as he turned to stare at the corpse, it's eyes ripped from its skull.

Kanan screamed, because he turned to look at his face in the reflection of the shattered mirror once again.

 

Kanan screamed because he was looking into someone else's eyes.


	2. Point Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He really was a monster. A monster wearing other people’s limbs, looking through someone else’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he thinks he found ezra, but he only has more questions.

Kanan, in all thirty years of his life, thought he knew what disgust felt like. A subtle pang in his chest. A burning in his eyes from anxious tears forming. A need to scrape and pull the skin from his fingers.

Kanan came to realize, everything he felt before he came back paled in comparison to the level of disgust he felt now. A subtle pang in his chest became a clawing from deep inside his stomach, an urge to vomit and let everything out. Burning in his eyes became a searing pain his his temples from the copious amounts of tears that dripped from eyes that weren’t his own. A need to scrape and pull at the skin on his fingers became a need to rip and gnaw away the flesh and muscle of someone else’s hands.

To peel away the skin that once belonged to someone else. Picking away at the line where his own flesh fuses to someone else’s, only distinguishable by the lighter shade of skin from someone else's hand.

A sick and twisted amalgamation.

And Kanan had questions, which will probably go unanswered.

Until a dry wheeze shattered the silence under Kanan’s hyperventilation.

Or maybe he’d get some answers after all.

Kanan stopped, slapping a hand over his mouth, and looking towards the source of the sound. His vision and hearing might’ve been better from when he was still alive he thought.

Kanan frowned, anxiously running a hand through his short hair, wet with sweat and blood.

Another wheeze, cracked and dusty. The noise vaguely reminded Kanan of someone scraping rocks against the ground.

“Hello?” He called out, finding ease at the sound of his own familiar voice. At least that was still his own.

Electricity shot through his nerves as he sensed another lifeform in the room, the only life form other than himself.

Then came the response.

“ _H-hello._ ” A tiny voice gurgled back.

Kanan stood, shakily wobbling to his feet and swaying unsteadily on his heels.

Maybe in some attempt to maintain some sense of dignity, he pulled a fallen tapestry from under his feet, shaking off the bits of broken glass fragments and wrapping it around himself.

He walked, slowly, unsure of how to react or what he’d do if there was a threat. Even through death, his muscle memory remained intact and he had the urge to reach for his thigh holster for his blaster.

He stepped off the raised platform, walking down the stairs towards a partially mummified Rodian, donning the same robes as the rest of the bodies. She gasped, and raised a weak finger at him.

“ _You…_ ” She rasped helplessly. “ _I-it’s you!_ ”

Kanan remained silent, lacking a response.

“ _You came and visited me in my dreams! With messages of the future!_ ” The woman uttered hoarsely. Kanan was shocked at the amount she was able to speak so powerfully with her physical state.

“ _I remember you… but not like this._ ”

“I don’t…” Kanan began, unsure of himself.

“ _Do you not remember us?_ ” She cried. “ _We are your children! You chose us to bare your knowledge of the Force, you whispered to us the secrets of life and death._ ”

“ _Have you forgotten us, Dume?_ ”

“You… how do you kno—” Kanan gasped, but was cut off before he could finish.

“ _How could you? How could you forget? We worked so hard to help you, to spread your word, to bring forth your judgement to Lothal!_ ” The Rodian woman cried out accusingly. “ _All the sacrifice, all the pain and suffering we did for you, all of this to bring you back to save our souls!_ ”

“I—!”

“ _All of this, and you still steal our lives to fuel your own. You monster._ ” She dropped her hand to the floor, easing out one grating breath.

And suddenly, Kanan was alone again.

Maybe that was a good thing.

Kanan backed away, slowly. Part of him was afraid she was gonna come back to life and kill him again.

He didn’t even know her name. Would he ever?

“I’m sorry…” Kanan croaked out, hanging his head in shame and allowing tears to fall to the ground.

He really was a monster. A monster wearing other people’s limbs, looking through someone else’s eyes.

Kanan heaved in with a shaky breath, attempting to gain his composure. He could mourn and cry later, he needed answers and to get out of here, _now_.

He scrubbed harshly at his face, wiping tears from his eyes and the blood from his nose. He continued forward, jogging hastily down the grand chamber, reaching a large iron double door.

“Please let this be an exit.” Kanan mumbled to no one in particular. _Hopefully to no one at least_.  

He tugged on the chain holding the door shut. It was rusted and worn down to a point that could only be explain by violent tugging over the years. He could only guess as to why anyone would be pulling on the chains.

Kanan wrapped his hands around the chain, bracing his foot on the door and giving a harsh pull.

It gave away instantly, leaving him to open the large iron gates. He pushed them open, and they scraped along the floor with a cold screech. Cold air hit him like a wall, along with heavy drops of rain as he embraced the night. At first it was welcoming, but he realized a thin tapestry wouldn’t do him any good in this cold. Clothes were a necessity.

Obviously, the robes of the countless corpses were still in good shape, save for the many that were drenched in dried blood. Now, Kanan wasn’t ever picky with his clothes, but…

He wasn’t really okay with looting the dead, especially since they all donned some kind of religious garb. And frankly, the idea of wearing clothes that were once on someone’s mummified remains made Kanan sick, and that’s coming from someone who’s already mish-mashed with dead bodies like some macabre puzzle.

Kanan padded slowly back inside, the short breath of fresh air making him realize just how horrific the cathedral smelled, what with the rotting corpses. It took an immense amount of willpower just to keep himself from doubling over and vomiting someone else’s guts out.

Though, he was grateful he didn’t have to come any closer to the carnage, as he noticed a door in the floor, opening up to a staircase descending downwards just in front of the pews. It once once covered by the carpet, which now lay torn to shreds. Nothing of interest awaited for him on the main floor, so he walked, taking each step gingerly on his shaking legs.

The stairs spiraled downwards, bringing Kanan to a hallway. It was well lit and rather modernized in comparison to the rest of the cathedral, and as he continued forward he realized that they were bunks.

Were these people living here?

Most likely. Kanan picked a random room and walked inside. It was barren, sporting nothing but a bed and a few garments of clothes. Kanan had to sort through it to find a pair of pants his size.

No, he wasn’t taking the underwear, he was disrespecting the dead as it is. He’s gone commando before and he was gonna do it again.

Though the pants fit nicely around his legs, the waist seemed rather stretched out. So he opted to tie a piece of fabric that might’ve been a scarf around his waist as some sort of makeshift belt.

After some scavenging around, he found a white shirt that was a size too small, and a pair of boots that were two sizes too big. But it’s not like Kanan was going for style, just some coverage and a minimum amount of comfort.

He seemed to find everything he needed.

Searching for a jacket, however, was a lost cause. And not wanting to remain in the cathedral any longer, he chose to use the tapestry as a cloak to provide _some_ kind of insolation against the cold.

Ascending the staircase again, he finally took his first few steps out into the rainy night. Had it been day, he probably wouldn’t have been able to see the towering buildings in the distance, lit up with lights and new construction. And not far from that, he saw a radio tower.

It was decorated with lights and had a welcoming aura to it.

 

And with that, came a flash of what might’ve been a memory.

Ezra!

It was Ezra’s tower!

Fear and weakness left his body as he took off into a sprint towards the tower, hope bubbling in his chest, along with memories of the past. Everything was finally coming back to him, and if the tower was occupied, it had to have been by him!

Or at least, Kanan hoped.

But, as it turns out, with Kanan’s physical condition, he could only sprint across the field for so long. Either it was because he was dead maybe thirty minutes ago, or he might finally just be feeling his age, but no amount of force abilities could ever keep him going for as long as he could’ve. The tower was a lot farther away than he had initially thought, and he found himself getting winded a lot quicker than he used to, maybe because his lungs might not have been his actual lungs. It was impossible to tell anymore, and Kanan would rather not think about it.

Despite the searing pain in every inch of his body (and the torn ligaments) he refused to slow down past a jog, especially when more details came into view as he neared.

There were hover bikes parked in a makeshift rack, and one he quickly recognized to be his old bike, sporting a new green paint job, but still his nonetheless! He was right, Ezra had to be here! Even if he didn’t feel it in his bond, which he doubted existed anymore with his previous death. That’s fine, they could rebuild it. They had all the time in the universe now.  

And nothing could stand in his way this time.

Kanan reached the tower, mud caked all the way up to his knees and drenched with rain down to the bone. He wasn’t exactly dressed for the occasion, but he didn’t have the energy or willpower to care. He just wanted to see Ezra.

Walking around, he found himself at the ladder, and with intense willpower, he climbed, pulling himself up step by step with little regard to his aching body. He didn’t care if he collapsed as soon as he got to the door, his only goal was to get to Ezra.

Even if it was the last thing he did.

Reaching the top, he staggered to his feet, stumbling forwards and reaching the door with a thud, accidentally slamming his body into it.

And yet, despite his excitement, Kanan hesitated. He considered the possibility that Ezra wasn’t inside.

Before he decided to overanalyze things more, he gingerly knocked on the metal door.

And then there was nothing. And Kanan waited.

For about a minute, Kanan waited.

Only seconds had passed, but each and every one felt like hours, dragging on aimlessly as Kanan gulped in anticipation.

He jumped when were heard movement inside, and then some kind of warbling noise that could only come from a droid.

Chopper!

“Chopper!” Kanan called out, keeping his voice semi-quiet. “It’s me!”

There was more movement, and another low warble, to which a voice responded with what sounded like a “Mom didn’t say anyone was coming over.” in a hushed whisper

From inside, Chopper beeped out. “ **Who’s ‘Me’?”**

“It’s—” Kanan paused, hesitating. So caught up in the moment, he forgot he was supposed to be dead. “Chop, I.. I need you to trust me and just open the door. Is Ezra there?”

Suddenly, a loud movement clanked from inside, and the door rushed open. Kanan flinched, wincing at the bright light from inside.

And there he was, Chopper, in all his glory. If trash cans on wheels could ever be considered glorious.

“Chop!” Kanan gasped with a sad laugh, the last time he was this grateful to see Chopper was the day he returned from Mustafar, and that feeling wasn’t too far off from returning from the dead.   

And Chopper, simply just looked at him. If Chopper showed any kind of emotion, this would be one of them. And behind Chopper, was…

It was a boy? A little boy. With green hair and ocean eyes. He stood behind Chopper in a manner not unlike how a child would hide behind a parent when meeting someone new. He had a bandage on his face and a cast on his arm.

And Ezra was nowhere to be seen.

Kanan’s smile faded as he examined the interior of the tower. No Ezra. No sign that he was even living there.

“Where’s Ezra?”

 

* * *

 

 

It had been the year prior when they found Kanan's remains. Dismantling the old fuel depot in order to build new structures resulted in the unintentional and unexpected discovery of Kanan's skeleton, borderline unrecognizable with the heavy charring and burning from the explosion. But despite that, the architects working on the property already knew those bones were Kanan's. Following his death and the liberation of Lothal, everyone would eventually come to know and mourn Kanan. Parades, not very unlike the ones held for the remaining Ghost crew and the missing Ezra Bridger, we're held for days on end to celebrate Kanan's life and to mourn his death. So finding his remains were both a blessing and a curse, especially when his lightsaber was found, not too far away from the site of his death, fully intact and functional.

So they finally held a proper funeral for Kanan. It hurt, truthfully. To reopen wounds from years ago. No one was really over Kanan's death, Hera especially, and it broke them more when they brought Kanan's son to a funeral for the father he'd never meet. Jacen never really felt one way or the other about his father, but he seemed genuinely sad as people, people who were strangers to Kanan in his life, took turns speaking about the great and amazing things he did. Thanking him, showing their gratitude as they left little gifts for him in the form of their valuables. Not many held real market value, but the personal value was priceless to them.

And the turnout was impressive. People showed up from across the galaxy. There were people the Ghost crew recalled helping. There were many that knew Kanan before he was Spectre 1, old friends and people who worked with him, people who were once out to kill him, even an ex-boyfriend.

There were even a few that knew Kanan when he was still Caleb Dume. A Kalleran man— who joined the front lines of the Rebellion soon after word got out about Kanan's death—he always had stories to share, stories about a baby Jedi just trying to survive in the harsh new galaxy.

It was worth all the heartbreak when all these people got to say a proper goodbye. They'd hold onto hope that Ezra would return to say goodbye too. Someday.  

But there was the issue with how expansive the memorial was. Word traveled quickly in the galaxy, and Sabine saw among the crowd a few faces that were _not_ welcome. And she quietly prayed to the Force that the religious lunatics that now knew Kanan's burial site wouldn't do anything crazy.

 

A year later, Sabine would end up being wrong.

 

She'd gotten the call a week ago, a message from a passerby saying Kanan's grave had been robbed.

Now, any sane person would figure it was robbed and ransacked of any valuables that Kanan might've been buried with, but they'd opted out in burying his lightsaber, figuring Kanan would want his son to have it, regardless of whether or not he was a Jedi. As for anything of Kanan's that had value? Well, he never kept anything of value in the first place.

So when Sabine rushed to the burial ground where he had been laid to rest, and saw his coffin dug up and ripped open with not even a piece of Kanan's charred remains inside, not even a speck of ash. Sabine knew there was a problem.

They weren't trying to steal any of his valuables, those damn lunatics were trying to do _something_. They spouted about it in the streets of Lothal for years now, but stealing his remains for an occasion? Now that crosses a line.

And Sabine was pissed.

 

She figured she could hunt them down and take his remains back before she'd end up having to tell Hera or Jacen or Ahsoka, but it was a week later, and she hasn't gotten anything.

Every single time she goes to the cathedral where she suspects they live, they're no where to seen, and no amount of waiting by the front gates can convince her anyone lived there at all. So she figured they must be going somewhere else. That's the only reasonable explanation. There's never a sign of life, just row after row of pews, unstable with wood rot and colonies of termites.

So then she tried waiting out in the town to see if one of them would come by to preach the "Great Word of Dume". It was insanity, it had to be. They were just imagining things, they weren't really getting messages from Kanan from beyond the grave, especially nothing like the holier-than-thou Force banthashit that they preached on a nightly basis. But it's like they knew she was coming, and they avoided coming into the city on the nights she was there. Or maybe they danced around her presence, it was like a cruel joke to them. 

And this was when she was finally beginning to feel hopeless. The longer she waited, the probability of them doing weird shit to his remains gets higher and higher, and she should probably just give in and tell Hera what happened. Hera would probably get the whole Resistance on Lothal to search for them.

Sabine, from where she was seated on a bench in front of one of the many fountains built in honor of Ezra, sighed softly and put her head in her hands. It was the same routine every night, and nothing would ever come from it.

She might as well get Jacen some dinner and go home. He's probably getting tired of Choppers poor cooking abilities. But before Sabine could stand, her comm buzzed and crackled to life.

" _Auntie Sabine! Auntie Sabine! Guess what!_ " Jacen shouted excitedly through the comm. She chuckled, chest warming at the sound of Jacen's enthusiasm. That boy never failed to put her in a good mood.

"What's up, goofball?" Sabine asked with a laugh. Jacen probably found another litter of loth-kittens and was gonna try and beg her to keep one of them like last time. With the Empire gone, the once endangered loth-cat species was making a comeback, and the citizens of Lothal had completely forgotten just how fast they reproduce.

At least Chopper was there to keep him from getting clawed up by the mother, at the expense of his coating of paint. She could always trust Chop to keep Jacen safe, never having to be worried about leaving him home without her. "Another batch of kittens?"

" _No!"_ The boy said with a giggle. " _Dad's back!_ " Jacen said happily.

 

Sabine's smile faded, and suddenly she didn't feel okay with leaving Jacen at home anymore.

 

The icy rain bounded down heavily on her as she shot up, hopping on her hoverbike and riding through the street towards the tower.

The air and cold whipped her face as she sped across the rainy field, and Force, she couldn't go fast enough.

 

It couldn't be him, it just couldn't be. There's just no way.

 

She made it back in record time, not taking the extra time to lock her bike up before she made sure her blasters were ready in their holsters.

Her heart pounded as she saw the muddy prints that ascended up the ladder.

And so, Sabine climbed. With haste she made her way up, trying to keep herself quiet as to not alert whoever the person pretending to be Kanan of her arrival.

She peeked over the ledge into the open doorway, and saw him, he was sitting at the table, facing away from her, the lights inside were dimmed for whatever reason, but she could make out Jacen sitting across from him, whispering shy questions, which were mainly inaudible, but the stranger responded to them gently. Chopper was nowhere to be seen.

Sabine huffed and pulled herself up onto the platform, and Jacen noticed her, about to call out a greeting. Before he opened his mouth, Sabine placed her finger on her lips, signalling for Jacen to be quiet. Jacen was a smart kid, ingenious for his age, and he listened, pressing his mouth shut and looking back at the man, listening carefully.

Sabine pulled her blasters from her thigh holsters as she stepped nearer and nearer, refusing to make a noise.

She took aim and readied her fingers on the triggers, and the man stopped talking, seemingly tensing up. Could he sense her? No way.

She noticed Jacen frown and look at her.

"Sabi—" The stranger began, his voice was calm before Sabine interrupted him.

" _Don't. Speak._ " She growled firmly. "Put your hands where I can see em' and I'll make this a lot easier for you."

The man did as directed, and that only made her angrier. If he put up a fight, she would've had an excuse to blow his brains out.

"You're sick, you know that? Going around telling my family you're "Kanan Jarrus" back from the dead." Sabine sneered, keeping her weapon leveled to his head as she walked around him slowly. "Pretending to be this kids father…"

"Sabine…" He muttered.

Tears welled in Sabine's eyes as her voice shook, "Force, you even sound like him!"

She rounded the table, coming up behind Jacen. She could tell now, how similar he looked to her dead friend. They were almost identical. _Almost_.

He was practically a clone of Kanan, impressive holographic technology, she figured. His face was tinted red with, what was presumably blood and dust, and there were rivulets falling from his forehead down to his chin where the rain streaked through.

Sabine let out a sad laugh and let her arms lower, "You know, I'd almost be impressed with this disguise if you hadn't gotten one part wrong!" She choked out "His eyes were _blue, not amber_. Guess my mural didn't do you too much justice, huh?"

The man held onto a blank expression for a moment, gazing at her like what she said had failed to click with him for a couple of seconds, before he gave a sad laugh himself. "You noticed?"

He wiped at his eyes as they filled with tears, before pointing at them, "Thanks, they're new."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tungle is here ; https://pissanthrope.tumblr.com/
> 
> my discord ; pee#4349
> 
> to be fair i dont really post a lot of star wars rebels stuff anymore but im trying to get back into it!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> tungle is here ; https://pissanthrope.tumblr.com/
> 
> my discord ; pee#4349
> 
> to be fair i dont really post a lot of star wars rebels stuff anymore but im trying to get back into it!!!!


End file.
